


Iterations

by sekaiseifuku



Category: Saiyuki Ibun
Genre: Crossdressing, Kinbaku (Japanese Rope Bondage), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-17
Updated: 2012-05-17
Packaged: 2017-11-05 12:53:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/406591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sekaiseifuku/pseuds/sekaiseifuku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Kinbaku</i>, like much else in Houmei’s life, was something that had simply happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Iterations

**Author's Note:**

  * For [7veilsphaedra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/7veilsphaedra/gifts).



Just before his last photo shoot, Houmei was asked by the photographer what it was that had first attracted him to rope work. He couldn’t find a way to explain it to him.

 _Kinbaku_ , like much else in his life, was something that had simply happened.

 

1\. Genkai

Jikaku, the head monk at the temple where Houmei studied, is known for his unusual training methods. The flow of students in and out of his temple is legendary: very few who come hoping to learn from him stay very long. The kind ones say that he’s baffling, that nothing he says makes sense. The unkind call him ridiculous.

To Houmei, however, Jikaku is one of the wisest men he has ever met. He learned more in the nine months he spent at Jikaku’s temple than in all his years of previous study combined and he credits much of that to one of the more controversial aspects of Jikaku’s instructional approach.

As part of their training, Jikaku instructs his students in the art of _kinbaku_.

_The act of tying is an exercise in focus, one that requires great attention to detail and mindfulness of one’s subject. But this is secondary to the true purpose of the exercise: to provide the subject with a physical manifestation of a spiritual truth._

_The first instinct one has at the sensation of ropes wrapping around limbs, securing and immobilizing them, is to struggle. Even safe in the knowledge that release is a mere word away, the body instinctually seeks freedom. It is infinitely more difficult to remain still – truly still – when bound. The ability to relinquish control over one’s body and relax into stillness is one that most must consciously learn._

_And if the body can learn stillness, the mind will follow._

Hearing these words, Houmei couldn’t help but smile, broad and wide, at the brilliant simplicity of the idea.

He spent hours with his limbs encased in tightly-wrapped rope, attempting to let go and to allow the feeling of immobility to transmute itself into that elusive inner stillness he was supposed to be pursuing. He was, not surprisingly, a complete failure.

Genkai, however, was a natural from the beginning. The very first time Houmei bound his wrists together, twisted the rope, and wrapped it around his narrow chest, his eyes fell shut, his breathing slowed, and a deep sense of calm settled around him almost instantaneously. It was uncanny.

Through the course of his training, Houmei discovered that even though he had no talent in submission, tying was something he did very well. He’d always been good with his hands and tying was an exercise that made sense to him on an intuitive level. It took very little time for him to master the basic forms Jikaku taught them. He was soon improvising methods to increase the complexity of his bindings, finding ways to push Genkai further and further.

Jikaku eventually discovered them, practicing after hours in an unused room at the back of the temple. Shortly afterwards, he introduced them to Soujin, a _kinbaku_ master from the city who he explained was willing to take on the right kind of student.

_Show him what you were doing._

While Houmei had tied Genkai in front of Jikaku and the other monks many times during training, that day was the first time he ever tied for an audience. There was something about knowing that his every movement was being observed not for the sake of instruction, but for observation alone that took the experience beyond the mundane and transformed it into something completely new. The focus that had eluded him through all his years of training was suddenly _there_ , like it had been there in front of him all along.

His ties were firm, confident, and flawless, and Genkai fell faster and deeper than he ever had before.

Today, two years after leaving the temple to study under Soujin, Genkai is still Houmei’s favorite subject. His athleticism, flexibility, and light, compact body enable Houmei to explore the limits of even the most extreme patterns and suspensions. He can do things with Genkai’s body that he can do with no other and every time he picks up the ropes, he’s struck with inspiration just as strongly as he was in the beginning. They’ve established a bond together through countless sessions and it is this deep trust that allows Genkai to surrender control of his body utterly and completely.

Houmei has never asked him what exactly it is like when he is bound. He may not have completed his training as a monk, but knows enough to realize that whatever Genkai experiences, it is something that by its very nature defies description.

He does know that for Genkai, being tied is the most profound form of meditation he has ever experienced.

It is for this reason that he has never asked Genkai to participate in his shows.

 

2\. Jouan

It takes Houmei very little time to learn even the most advanced mechanics of the art. Soujin is an excellent instructor and Houmei has always been a quick study. He knows that he could not have found a more suitable person with whom to study; Soujin’s exacting standards and commitment to tradition are unparalleled. He is a master of precision, yet he both appreciates and encourages innovation.

With few exceptions, the men Houmei ties in shows and for photo shoots are much the same – blank canvases on which to demonstrate his skills. As one would expect, they come and go quite regularly.

There are, however, a handful of individuals to whom he’s taken a liking for one reason or another. These are the models with whom he’s developed a close professional relationship and now appear as regulars in his shows. He’s worked with them enough to know exactly which forms best showcase their unique shapes and lines, as well as the limits and nuances of their bodies. Most importantly, he knows how far he is able to press the boundaries of convention with each of them.

Some models are, after all, more suited to experimentation than others.

Many would find it surprising that Houmei, someone who has made a name for himself by defying expectations, most enjoys performing with Jouan. He has never been one for tradition, but when he ties Jouan, his work is as close to the art form at its purest as he will ever get.

With his long hair pulled up in the _shimada_ style, immaculate makeup and multicolored _kimono_ , there are few who would ever think Jouan was anything other than the most feminine of women. On the increasingly more frequent occasions that Houmei is asked to perform outside the gay circuit, there is always a gasp from the crowd when he slips his hand inside the neckline of Jouan’s _kimono_ and pulls it open far enough to reveal the flat planes of his chest. No one ever expects him to be a man.

Male he may be, there is a softness to the way he gives himself over to the ropes that takes people’s breath away. He is a living, breathing masterpiece.

Jouan, more so than anyone else, knows this.

When Houmei ties Jouan it is as though the ropes are moving themselves, twisting and falling into shapes so perfect they could grace the pages of a _kinbaku_ textbook, if such a thing were to exist. When tying anyone else, the traditional forms Houmei has been taught are fluid, mere suggestions to be cast aside when the moment calls for it. With others, he sometimes begins in one place and ends in another, never knowing quite how he got there. But with Jouan, strict adherence to the traditional takes the performance into the realm of the sublime.

It’s no wonder Jouan is his most frequently photographed model.

Jouan, however, prefers live shows to photo shoots. He is at his best and most submissive when he faces the anonymous scrutiny of an audience. During shows, Houmei imagines he can feel the ebb and flow of energy from the crowd, feeding whatever it is Jouan possesses that enables him to captivate an audience as he does.

While tying Jouan, Houmei’s focus expands to encompass the performance in its entirety.

Jouan is intensely aware of how he appears when he is being tied. It is the kind of awareness that is born of an innate consciousness of the way one relates to one’s surroundings combined with intense, focused study. There is no movement, no hitch of breath or shift within the ropes that is not made with full knowledge of how it changes the picture he is presenting.

The harsh lights of the stage conceal a shadowed audience, bathed in a wash of tobacco and alcohol. The bass tones of the background music reverberate in Houmei’s chest, and he checks to make sure the floor-length sleeves of Jouan’s _furisode_ are loose before he completes the complex ties that secure his hands behind his back and his torso to the rigging. This is the most complex suspension Houmei has ever done with Jouan and they’ve been working on it for six weeks, making sure he is flexible and confident enough with the position to truly let go.

Tonight is the first time they’ll do it for an audience.

Houmei has made the binding very tight – tighter than any of the times they’ve practiced it – and he knows it is skirting the subtle line between pressure and pain. For all that he loves the ropes, Jouan does not crave pain and by pushing this boundary, Houmei hopes to elicit something entirely unexpected from him.

Jouan stifles a moan as he shifts in the ropes, trying in vain to find a more comfortable position. It’s a subtlety that is lost to all but the most observant of the audience. Houmei pauses, allowing Jouan’s anticipation of the moment to build. He places a reassuring hand on Jouan’s hip, just beneath his obi.

Cliché as it may be, the picture of plain jute rope against the silk and brocade of an _obi_ is so visually compelling that he can’t help but come back to it again and again when tying Jouan. A critic once described this aspect of his work as “a borderline obsession with the idea of the common man being a not slave to tradition, but an enslaver of it himself.” In truth, it is much simpler than that.

For Houmei, the appeal lies in the striking contrast that occurs when bringing together two things that are identical in purpose, yet so incredibly different in form.

The hem of Jouan’s _furisode_ parts and his back arches as Houmei lifts his right leg behind him and begins the process of securing it to the rigging. Jouan is left standing on one leg and his balance is so perfect that only the slight sway of his sleeves betrays the minute adjustments his muscles must make to enable him to maintain the position.

The final ties complete, Houmei checks one last time to ensure that no cloth is caught in the ropes and begins to raise the rigging. Unlike in other shows where he employs large, sweeping movements and dramatic suspensions meters in the air, tonight Houmei will raise the rigging just enough for it to bear Jouan’s full weight.

The rigging moves upward at an almost agonizingly slow pace to allow Jouan’s back and right leg to stretch while his other foot remains firmly on the ground. The crowd’s attention now is not drawn to the ties or on the complex rigging, but the effect they have on Jouan’s body as it is pulled upward, his back arching almost impossibly.

As his heel leaves the floor and his weight shifts to rest of the ball of his foot, Houmei’s focus is on Jouan’s face. He can see small beads of sweat on his lip and the finest of creases between his eyebrows as he draws them together. He’s struggling to maintain control over himself.

He’s been raised enough that his sleeves and hemline are loose and he’s remained so still that they seem like a frozen waterfall of deep blue and purple around him. His foot finally loses contact with the stage and he is fully suspended, the floor of the stage just millimeters away from his toes.

Jouan hangs there motionless for a split second, then he suddenly gasps and a moan escapes his throat. The sound is harsh and unstudied.

_There._

It is the first real reaction Houmei has ever elicited from Jouan. He smiles as the audience bursts into applause.

 

3\. Toudai

There is much about the world that Houmei knows just on a cerebral level. He is constantly surrounded by people and enjoys their company; however, many of the things they experience, think, and feel on a regular basis he knows only because he is told.

He’s always known that there are many who are attracted to the art of _kinbaku_ for a multitude of reasons that relate, in one way or another, to sexual gratification. Early in his career he encountered a large number of models, audience members, and even other practitioners who expected his work to incorporate more of the erotic and sexual side of the art. Logically, he knew it was an avenue of exploration that people find compelling; however, he felt no personal connection, no draw toward it.

It wasn’t until Houmei met Toudai that he understood – truly understood – the eroticism inherent in the act of binding another human being.

When it comes to men, Houmei can honestly say that he doesn’t have a type. On the very rare occasions that he’s chosen to pursue someone, it has always been a result of some particular characteristic that has captured his attention – an offhand remark that belies keen intelligence, a sharp intensity in one’s gaze, the infectious quality of another’s laughter.

It’s different every time.

With Toudai, it was the way his cotton shirt was just the slightest bit too tight, drawing attention to the line of his powerful arms. Outside of his work, Houmei doesn't pay particular attention to people’s bodies, but when he saw Toudai standing in front of him that day on the train, he was captivated. As he imagined what those muscular arms would look like bound tightly together with rope as black as the man’s hair, he was shocked that the simple act of imagining it aroused him more than anything in recent memory.

He was glad to discover that there was still something in the world that could take him by surprise.

Sometimes, when the night stretches before them as if there were no end in sight, Houmei takes his time tying Toudai. He binds his hair into intricate patterns and lays the ropes across his body at a relaxed, almost languid pace. He pulls and twists them into new shapes that he formulates in the moment, always searching for the best way to frame that amazing musculature. He’s spent hours in such a way, the rope serving as tool that slowly kindles and feeds the desire that seems ever-present between them.

Other times, like tonight, the rope is used merely as a means to an end.

It’s been two weeks since they last met and Houmei can admit to himself that he has felt the absence more than he would have expected. He’s found himself thinking about Toudai at the oddest times. It’s been … distracting.

Houmei wonders if it’s just him.

He crosses the length of his practice room, puts down the box he is carrying and crouches behind Toudai, who is already fully disrobed and kneeling on the _tatami_ mats. Houmei places a hand on Toudai’s bare shoulder and tries to center himself, focusing on the heat of the other man’s skin. He’s always so incredibly warm.

“Is there anything you want?”

It’s a question Houmei always asks.

“I … I don’t think I can last long tonight,” Toudai admits.

“Good.” Houmei laughs softly at the unexpected sense of relief that washes over him. “I don’t think I can either.”

He picks up one of the shorter lengths of rope from the box and begins to wrap it around Toudai’s head, each pass covering more of his eyes until, with a simple tie, it is secured and has completely obscured his vision. He runs a hand through Toudai’s hair, brushing aside the long, coarse strands to press his mouth against the back of his neck. Houmei inhales slowly, savoring the smell of arousal mixed with the scent of wool and winter air that lingers on his skin.

Rather than tying Toudai’s hair back as he often does, Houmei decides to leave it down, anticipating the way it will fall when Houmei lays him down on the tatami and fucks him. He’s so very tempted to do it right now. The urge is overwhelming, almost uncontrollable.

Picking up the longest length of rope – black, just like he imagined the first time he saw Toudai – he stands and moves to kneel in front of him, reaching out to run his fingers softly across the rope blindfold.

There are so many possibilities … so many things he could do, but he’s decided that tonight he will return to the first pattern he ever tied with Toudai. The one that still burns in his mind when he closes his eyes and thinks of the other man.

“Your arms, please.”

Toudai obeys immediately, stretching his powerful arms in front of him in offering, wrists pressed firmly together.

Houmei folds the rope in half and as he begins the first wraps around Toudai’s upper arms, he notices the other man’s breathing has quickened and the hairs on his arms are standing on end. Toudai may be quiet by nature, but his body is not. Houmei loves the honesty of his reactions.

He’s already hard and they’ve scarcely begun.

It is not a complex binding, but he forces himself to go slowly, trying to focus on the patterns that emerge as he wraps and twists the rope around itself. He has tied it hundreds of times before but with Toudai, Houmei always seems to lose the focus that comes so easily with everyone else. His attention is drawn away from the ropes, caught instead by the intoxicating combination of firm rope against smooth, hard muscle and the near-constant desire Houmei has come to feel for the other man.

He wraps the last of the rope around Toudai’s wrists and completes the tie that secures the binding, designed to prevent it from loosening in even the most vigorous of struggles. He takes a moment to take in the image in front of him: the flush high on Toudai’s cheeks against the ropes that cross his face, the row of tight knots that connect the bindings of his arms, and the contrast of black ropes against pale skin. Toudai’s cock is rock-hard, jutting outward and slick with moisture.

It is too tempting for Houmei to resist.

“Toudai.” He caresses the uppermost part of the binding before pulling on it sharply, just to see the way it causes him to jerk forward. “I think I’m going to skip binding your legs tonight. Do you mind?”

“No,” Toudai groans. “Gods, no.”

Leaning forward to capture his mouth, Houmei is amazed by how incredibly much he wants him. Some nights he spends less time tying him than others, but he’s never left a binding incomplete before. Now, however, the ropes are all but forgotten and the only thing he can think of is how quickly he can get inside Toudai.

Houmei pulls back, breaking their kiss. “Lie back,” he breathes against Toudai’s mouth as he releases his hold on the rope. He quickly undresses, untying his belt and discarding the loose cotton trousers and top of his _samue_ , before reaching into the box beside them and pulling out the bottle of lube. Toudai tenses momentarily as Houmei presses a finger into him, but soon relaxes enough for Houmei to add a second, then a third. It isn’t long before Toudai is thrusting against those fingers, low moans caught in his throat as Houmei kneads his prostate.

Houmei cannot wait any longer. He withdraws his fingers, stops to roll a condom over his cock, then lifts Toudai’s leg over his shoulder and sinks into him in one smooth motion. The sensation is just as incredible as he remembers, impossible tightness and heat. He pulls back and his hips jerk forward of their own accord, his cock slamming into him again and again. If it were anyone else, Houmei would be worried about using him in such a rough way. But Toudai arches to meet each of his thrusts, his actions compounding their brutality.

Toudai’s body suddenly goes rigid as he gives himself over to orgasm. The last thing Houmei thinks before his own overtakes him is that he has never before seen Toudai come without his cock being touched.

When the shockwaves have passed and Houmei pulls himself out of Toudai’s body, he finds that he feels just the slightest bit uneasy.

“Are you okay?” He tilts his head, letting it rest against Toudai’s knee.

“Yeah.”

He watches the rise and fall of Toudai’s chest, still rapid.

“Do you want me to untie this?” He reaches down to run a finger across the knot at his wrist.

There is a pause before Toudai answers. “No. Not yet.”

Somehow, that pleases Houmei.

For long minutes, the quiet of the room is broken only by the whirring of the heater high on the wall and the sound of their breathing as it evens out.

While he frequently does not understand others, it is a rare occasion that Houmei does not understand himself. This strange, all-encompassing fixation that he experiences with Toudai, however, is unique for him. He cannot find an explanation for it, no matter how hard he tries.

He doesn’t know if he should be grateful or wary.

  


**Author's Note:**

> Written for[ **7veils**](http://7veils.dreamwidth.org/) for the 2011 [**yuletide_smut**](http://yuletide-smut.dreamwidth.org/) giftfic exchange. Thank you, my dear, for a prompt that blew my mind. (^_^) As always, love and smoochies to [](http://genkisakka.livejournal.com/profile)[**genkisakka**](http://genkisakka.livejournal.com/) for her support and beta skillz.


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